Down The Other Road
by Soul Music
Summary: All That I'm After: Two. Returning from a long, hard undercover mission Agent Gibbs has a surprise waiting for him in his living room. Rating for safety and possible later chapters UNFORTUNATE FORCED HIATUS: HORRIBLE COMPUTER TECHNICAL FAILURE.
1. Chapter 1

**All That I'm After: Down The Other Road**

**Chapter One: Now it's Too Late  
**

_I know I said I'm sorry, but that's not what I meant to say - _Daughtry

"No, Anthony!" The voice shrieked, snapping the boy to attention. "Now it's too late, I don't care if you say sorry, I don't care if you didn't _mean _it. It's done." _Whack _"You worthless filth. I never wanted you, why would I want _something _like you? Get out of my sight…no…Get out of my house! Get out of my life." _Pain_

_It seemed so long ago, it seemed such a long way away. It felt like he'd been running for months when really it had only been days…Or had it been months? It still felt like too long. This had been the last place, the first place he'd tried. The darkness closing in forced him forward, bone weary. First the winding trucks, that had picked him up near the I-95 S, four hours and seventeen minutes, his watch ticking away. But, no further._

_No, he wouldn't go any further. Not with what they wanted him to do. No…he'd never, he couldn't. No. He'd run from there. Run so fast. And he'd walked, feet dragging one way then the other, shoulders heavy. The cops of trees near the right turn onto the MD-3 S had served as a night shelter. The warm summer night still bringing a shiver, cutting through the fabric._

_And it was there. A house, last on the row, the garden out the back, overgrown flowerbeds reaching up towards the turquoise sky of a new morning. Alone. Inviting. Empty._

_He shivered, looking furtively left and right. No one about. No one watching. Taking a breath he started up the path, crouching in front of the door with a long hairpin he'd slipped off his mother's dressing table, his pen knife in the other hand. _

_The door swung back easily, thumping softly against the inside wall of the hallway. The boy breathed out, that had only ever worked twice before, and those time he knew the locks; must be getting better._

_Slipping inside the cold hallways, the boy shut the door behind him. As he suspected: Empty. Sheets even covered the furniture, no lights shone from within…or without. It was utterly empty. And that's where he was now._

_This wasn't his house, wasn't his home. He was an intruder? Yes, he was. He wasn't _supposed _to be here…_Make as little impact as possible. _As little impact. But, it was hard. The floor…or the sofa? And what was this? Covered by a thick black sheet, different from the others. He pulled at a corner, peeking under the cover. A piano? _

_It was a piano._

…………………………………………………………………………………..

It had been a long, long mission. A long mission. Sometime Agent L.J. Gibbs felt that being an NCIS agent took more acting than honesty. Gibbs ran a hand over his tired face, leaning against the seats in the back of the taxi cab which was winding its way through the empty streets of the quiet neighbourhood.

"Just drop me off here." Gibbs signalled the cabbie, reaching into the pocket of his crumpled suit to retrieve the equally crumpled payment. His body was telling him that he needed sleep, but it was also telling him that it was already time to get up. Damn jetlag. It wasn't like Europe had held anything he really wanted to see, nothing he wanted to remember.

Director Morrow's debrief had been just that: brief. Short and to the point, and now he was home.

He'd always hated deep undercover work, it took over your life and left you bereft afterwards. This mission had done just that, taken over his life. He'd been so far undercover that he'd been forced to bring a suspect back to his house once when he'd been tailed and then his…alias, had moved. They'd known where he lived and he needed to make it look _real. _This bloody undercover op had made him leave home, the one place he could escape from it. No, that had been taken away and it wasn't like anyone had asked if he wanted this. Of course he didn't fucking want this!

The cab trundled away, leaving Gibbs to haul his bag onto his back and trudge towards the inviting sight of his house. His home.

"Psst." Gibbs frowned, turning his head slightly. People actually still did that? An elderly man who Gibbs recognised as the man who lived across from him was beckoning him over. The agent sighed deeply, he really wasn't in the mood for this, but he went over anyway, inclining his head as politely as he could with the fatigue which was raging through his body.

"That'd your house there." The elderly man stated with a nod.

"Yes it is."

"You got a visitor."

Gibbs blinked, "What? Who?"

"I dunno, this kid, he come yesterday and he break in, me and Maggie. We saw him, didn't we Maggie."

"That we did, Bernie." His wife had some how materialised beside him.

"Yeah, want us to call the police. We can call the police for you. Might be best if we call the police, breaking and entering."

"What's this kid look like?" Gibbs' inner investigator sneaking up the barrier of exhaustion.

"Don't know, it was dark. Early morning." Bernie nodded to himself.

"It was that, very early." Maggie cut in.

"He was young, maybe nine or ten. You think he was the same age as our Greg or our William, Maggie?"

"Oh, our Bill, Bernie."

"Then our Billy's ten now. The kid was nine or ten. Do you want us to call the police?"

"Naw, it's 'kay, I'll fix it out." Gibbs assured the old couple, who seemed to keep odd hours of the day if they'd been up in the early morning yesterday and were still up in the late hours of the night now. Gibbs gave them a slight smile, retreating back across to his dark house. He glanced over his shoulder, still able to see Bernie and Maggie – Berggie – watching him intently, good thing he had an obscured doorway them he doubted this would go down with his oddly observant neighbours.

Silent as a cat, Gibbs slipped his bag off his shoulder, resting it in the porch-way, thankful that he'd remembered to turn off the porch-light so it didn't flicker into existence at his presence.

Sliding his gun from its almost permanent position by his hip, Gibbs tested the door handle; unlocked…interesting. Bracing himself, Gibbs quietly opened the door, his gun preceding him into the hallway. The darkness within was almost overpowering, the chill of having not heated the house for weeks forcing out into the calm night.

Edging along the hallways, Gibbs held his gun steady, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the familiar surroundings. He only had a second to react as a chair was wielded in his direction, aimed at his chest.

………………………………………………………………

**Now I'm triple-tasking. It's a skill…sort of. No, I haven't forgotten anything, it's all being written; I'm just a story maniac. Short and sweet, just how we like Gibbs…well maybe not short he's probably six foot, but the way he talks anyway. I'll keep this short. Throw a dedication to my faithful followers: ****ShadowWolfDagger****, peanutmeg, Hussey, kutoki, 3hourmonologue, sarahbeara07, AgentDiNozzo13, sparkybunny, Tara La'Quinn, newgal, AMAPADME, Invisible Brunette, julie250…oh so many more. Jen…but of course. Anni, can't forget. And this was going to be short, failed there. But, there it is. Yes, this is a short chapter, next will be longer and actually better written, this isn't amazingly written, but hope you like it!**

**Eryn [Soul Music]**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: There's No Rhyme of Reason**

The chair was recognisable as one from his kitchen island, sailing through the air towards his chest. He caught a leg right before impact, taking a quick step back and twisting upwards. The swinger came with it. There was a soft yelp as the friction rammed splinters across the attackers palm; Gibbs dropped the chair back down onto the carpeted hallway, his gun still in hand.

He blinked.

He'd been expecting a six foot hit man with stereotypical gang tattoos covering his bald head. Definitely not what was in front of him, stuck and cornered in his entrance corridor, underneath the coats.

This was a boy. Ten years old, maybe younger, huge defiant green eyes stared up at Gibbs, tanned complexion still visible in the gloom of the house.

Gibbs opened his mouth, but without warning, without a backward glance, the boy bolted. The agent made a grab at his shirt, the fabric of the kid's hooded jumper slipping through his fingers. Gibbs made it halfway up the street before he lost the soight. _Jesus, the kid was fast!. _ Or maybe he'd just slowed down.

Huffing out a sigh, Gibbs glanced down at his gun, slowly sliding it back into it's holster. It had been a much too long a day…night…week…month. Hell, it had been a long mission.

"You want us to call the police?" The voice of Bernie spoke up behind him. Gibbs turned with a suffering sigh.

"Naw, it's fine, he's gone, just leave it."

Gibbs rubbed at his eyes, turning away from his really quite worrying neighbours.

It was his house. The same house he'd left with the sheets covering the furniture. He'd had to raid the linen closet to find enough sheets to cover his chairs and tables. The fridge was empty and bare, the cupboards blank and voice. Even his kitchen appliances were wrapped up in boxes, shoved into a storage locker.

It was his house and he knew it, but it wasn't his _home. _

The door was kicked shut behind him, the night quickly turning into morning and the light dawning on the horizon.

His living room wasn't how he'd left it, not completely. The sheet had been pulled off the couch, bundled p on the floor like a little nest against the back wall. A black backward stood in the mess of fabric, standing out against the pale.

Out of habit, Gibbs attempted to flick on a light. Nothing happened. Fucking undercover! Made him cancel his electricity. Bloody hell!

Sighing deeply, the type of sigh when the world rested on your shoulders, Gibbs pulled out one of the drawers in the kitchen he mercifully hadn't completely empties. For this direct purpose, so he could pull out a torch.

Flashing the light over the bag, Gibbs sat heavily n the sofa, really wondering why he wasn't just letting this wait until tomorrow. It was the combination of curiosity and jetlag which won out in the end. The agent carefully unzipped the bag with the handkerchief covering one hand. Even with six hours sleep in three days, his inner investigator was on full alert.

Two sets of clothes, shoved in the bottom as tightly as possible, wrappers from a chocolate bar, and a small plastic card tucked into the back pocket. Gibbs drew it out carefully, shining the light from his torch on the surface.. A school emblem with 'LIBRARY CARD' and a name adorned the laminated card: Anthony DiNozzo Jr. Age…well apparently the joint knowledge of Berggie was correct, that this A. DiNozzo was indeed aged ten. Leaning back on the sofa, Gibbs thought carefully, mulling over images in his mind. The defiant gaze of the child. The fact that there was a child squatting in his home, which was a weird enough fact as it was. He didn't even realise he'd fallen asleep until the morning light woke him up. Or was it the knock on the door.

The sound of the knocking jerked the marine (since there's no such thing as an ex-marine) back to consciousness without any ceremony. Groaning, Gibbs pushed himself up onto his elbows, the school library card falling out his lap. Picking it up, the knocking on the door became more insistent. Brilliant.

The door was opened to reveal – well he should've guessed – Berggie. Both of them.

"You looked tired yesterday." Maggie began cheerfully.

"And your house has been empty." Bernie continued.

"That means no food."

"Yes, no food."

"So, we brought you breakfast." Maggie presented him with a large plate of pancakes, they actually looked very good, but when a strange couple across the road ask you over for breakfast – well, bring it to your door – it can be a little strange.

"Come over to ours, we have coffee as well, you look like you could use some." Bernie insisted, pointing a hand back over the road as if this made the point final. Well, Gibbs didn't have any food and this could a good opportunity since he did need something.

"Can I borrow your phone?" He asked politely when he was seated at the brightly lit kitchen table with Maggie bustling around, placing a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Of course you can, son. Just by the door." Bernie indicated the cradle and receiver mounted on the wall, quickly engaging in a conversation with his wife about the plants in the window box. They seemed to find it impossible to keep on topic.

"_NCIS crime laboratory." _Came the light, male voiced answer when Gibbs dialled the familiar number.

"Robbie, it's Gibbs."

"_Gibbs? I thought you and Shepherd were off rotation for the next week, what's going on, you got a case or something?"_

"Naw, wonderin' if you could look up a name for me."

"_Sure, man, what's the case number?"_

"It's not a case,"

"_Oh, no, I ain't doing any more freelance stuff with you, last time it like almost got me fired, man!"_

"Call it calling in that favour."

"_Seriously, dude! Urgh,"_

"Robbie, do you want everyone to find out what happened last Christmas?"

"…_No. Fine, what name?"_

"Anthony DiNozzo Junior."

"_Di-what?"_

"DiNozzo. D-i-N-o-z-z-o."

"_Right, I'll have somethin' for you in the next…dunno, three hours. Gotta tonne of crap to run already."_

Gibbs hung up before the word 'gotta'. Maggie beamed at him when he re-entered the room, refilling his coffee even though he had yet to drink any of it. Yeah, his neighbours had officially passed into the realms of strange and yet vaguely endearing.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

Robert Hemmingway tended to work at whatever hours the day threw at him. This could be six in the morning or it could be eleven thirty at night. Either way, no-one was surprised if Robbie was still in the lab, scurrying around and living up to the name of 'lab rat' with amazing accuracy. Not that he looked like a rat, not really. He was of average height; a shock of black hair spiked up along his head and deep set blue eyes. It was a strange combination, one that shrieked about some sort of Irish origin.

He also didn't like being disturbed, even if he'd told someone he had a result, he hated being interrupted. And no matter how many times he told this to people, they kept doing it. Especially Special Agent Gibbs.

"What've you got, Robbie?" His gruff manner always had Robbie frowning, except, Robert Hemmingway was as straight as a curly straw and tended to find Gibbs rather attractive in an annoying sort of way. This annoyed Robbie far more than Gibbs as Gibbs ignored him any other time.

"No pleasantries, perhaps a box of chocolates and a smile?" Robbie huffed, Gibbs just stared. "Fine." Robbie clicked on one of his black screens, jerking it into life as Gibbs stepped closer.

"Anthony Dalmazio DiNozzo. Son of Anthony Dalmazio DiNozzo Senior and Eleanora DiNozzo. No siblings, mother died four years ago. Oh, and there's this." Robbie double clicked on a link and a flashing icon appeared on the screen. Gibbs had to read the rest writing twice before he truly believed it.

_Anthony D. DiNozzo. Missing: Three months, two days. Case file: New York Police Department. Register: Mr. Anthony. D. DiNozzo Senior. Address: 1594 Parraset New York. Contact: Detective Austin Keifer._

The words flashed before him on the screen. The school photograph was definitely the defiant young child in his home, and on the library card.

"I got Detective Keifer's number." Robbie said shortly, handing over the yellow post-it note. Gibbs left without a word.

"You're welcome." Robbie muttered, turning back to his computer screen, man he needed an assistant.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Detective Keifer was about as helpful as a chocolate teapot in a desert. He had no leads on the kid's disappearance and told him to get in contact with the father, but to do it in person since Mr. DiNozzo 'didn't talk over the phone'. Fantastic. Either, Gibbs let this drop or he took the agonizing trip in one of the swish agency sedans across to New York, 1594 Parraset to be exact.

Who was he kidding; when a child was involved, he'd never let it drop.

And that was how he found himself in one of the air conditioned sedans, trawling out of D.C in the direction of Baltimore and finally New York City, DiNozzo's extravagant house.

And it really was. The kid came from this? What the hell drove him away? It was frickin' huge, he could even see the pool in the back. So, he buzzed. Yes, he had to buzz, there were stupidity large gates, and Gibbs wasn't stupid to think that in a neighbour like this that they wouldn't be wired.

"_How can I help?" _Came a deep voice over the intercom.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS, to speak to Mr. DiNozzo."

"_A single moment, please." _And a single moment later the gates cracked open, sliding back on oily hinges no doubt. Okay, this place was a little worrying, not Berggie worrying, but just _too _high class for his liking.

A man in full golfing outfit was standing on the raked gravel outside the pillared porch just beyond the main entrance, a black suited man with thinning hair standing submissively behind him when Gibbs pulled up the black sedan, killing the engine and stepping out onto the grass.

"Special Agent Gibbs?" A smooth voice, lightly tinted with Italian asked with a forced smile. Oily voice, like his gates.

"Mr. DiNozzo?" The oily man nodded curtly.

"This is my lawyer, Mr. Sloano. What is this about, Agent Gibbs?"

"Your son, Mr. DiNozzo." Gibbs' voice was impassive, but his eyes didn't miss the tightening of his jaw, the shift in his stance.

"I think you are mistaken, Agent Gibbs." His voice was slightly forced, becoming more like his twitching smile.

"Well, I don't think so. I found his bag and him." Sloano took that moment to butt in.

"Mr. DiNozzo has no children." Gibbs raised his eyebrows.

"Then why is there a missing persons report created by you three months ago?" Gibbs voice was slowly getting less and less impassive.

"That was months ago…Anthony has been missing for three months, there is no more hope. He is dead, Agent Gibbs." DiNozzo stared at the agent with undisguised dislike.

"I disagree, your child was at _my _house last night."

"You are lying! I have no children, I have moved on. Anthony is dead. Dead! You've never lost a child; you don't know why it feel like. Three months and even the police stop looking. I will not waste my life on a thread of hope which is easily snapped. Good day, Agent Gibbs." DiNozzo turned on his heel, stalking back up to his house. Sloano stared smugly at Gibbs, following his employer a few lengths behind.

The vast entrance hall to the DiNozzo mansion echoed with the angry footsteps.

"I thought you dealt with this, Sloano, that is what I pay you for."

"The child is gone, Mr. DiNozzo. He won't be coming back, believe that. Would you like me to check and make sure?"

"That. Is. What. I. Pay. You. For." DiNozzo snarled each word, striding off up the ornate staircase towards his office – and probably his liquor cabinet – with an undisguised stomp. Sloano ran a tongue over his dry lips, drifting away from the entrance hall, a smirk on his lips as the sound of a car engine stated the departure of the only newly arrived NCIS agent.

The office Sloano found himself in was small, but it had the telephone, which the 'lawyer' used with glee.

"Noah? The boy. He is in Washington, our client does not want to be bothered by him again. _Check _and make sure this is the case. Good. Call me soon."

The smirk rivalled the Cheshire Cat.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

**I don't know where the crazy neighbours came from, ah well, all's good in crazy neighbours. Especially if they provide coffee. And here is the next – very, very tardy-full – chapter. I'll make this short, thank Jen and Anni and all the reviews who make my life so much brighter. Thanks guys!**

**Eryn [Soul Music]**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: When You Fall Apart**

Gibbs had taken the drive from New York to Washington, or from Washington to New York depending on how you looked at it, enough times in his life to know the route. He'd actually done the trip four times in one day before, he was never doing that again. Still, he arrived back to his still blacked out, sheet covered house with a brown paper bag of something edible. They did say that dust was more or less organic matter, but he still doubted that it would taste any good, even grilled in the fireplace.

Pushing the door open with a shoulder, Gibbs shifted the paper bag to the other hand, pulling out his torch to sweep across the corridor. It wasn't like he'd had any time to actually reinstate his electricity with today's activities, so the torch was a life saver. Literally, since he could've easily fallen over the half crumpled kitchen chair he had yet to move out the way.

With a sigh, Gibbs dropped the bag with a soft clunk onto the kitchen island, resisting the urge to bang his head against the cold stone top. What sort of frickin' parent was Mr. DiNozzo. Sure, there was disbelief that your child was dead; it was a nasty, all consuming feeling which ate you from the inside out. But, any hope, any at all, that your child –your flesh and blood- was somehow, inexplicably alive. Yeah, you'd jump at the chance wouldn't you? Take every shred of hope you could, you didn't shove it back in the messenger's face and storm back into your palace with the haughtiness of someone who'd just been told their T-time had been cancelled. Pathetic.

Still, at least he could have a good nights sleep tonight, right? Oh, yeah right. Missing kid, idiotic parent, again with the missing kid. No sleep right now, especially since he wasn't as tired as yesterday, had surprised him that sleep had come so quickly. Still, that was a one time occurrence.

Dragging the pale beige wrapped sandwich out of the depths of the bag, not really caring that it had somehow becoming unrecognisably squished in the short ride from the store. Still, shape did nothing for taste and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. Biting into it was just as pleasurable as ever.

Leaning back against the kitchen island Gibbs contemplated…well nothing, his mind was about as blank as his fridge, which was perfectly fine with him right now. He couldn't be asked to think, this was blissful release. But, as always, there was something to wrench him out of that blissfullnesses.

It was called creaking.

The tell-tale squeak of someone trying to shimmy-jack a lock. Was his house turning into Grand Central Station or something? It was his back window lock if he wasn't mistaken, the one leading off from the laundry room. Sad thing about the laundry room, it only had one door, and that lead directly into the kitchen. Hard luck, for that. Slipping his sandwich down onto the kitchen counter and swallowing his whole mouthful in one, not very pleasant, Gibbs drew his SIG from the holster by his belt, levelling it in one hand as he stood in the shadow, his torch turning off just letting the light from the streetlamps illuminate the kitchen.

The door from the laundry room opened slowly, faltering as the small hand on the handle paused to peak around the door frame. It wasn't until the small, quiet footsteps had brought the child half way around the kitchen island did the big green eyes take in the second occupant.

He bolted, and for a ten year old he was a quick little fellow, darting through the kitchen arch towards the front door. But, years of marine reflexes had left Gibbs with the ability to lunge out and grab the dirty hooded jumper, wrapping a hand into the fabric and hand firmly on the child's shoulder.

With a reaction faster than Gibbs had anticipated, the kid, who he assumed was Anthony DiNozzo Junior, turned and sank his teeth into his hand, struggling against the hold.

Gibbs wrenched his hand away. _Son of a bitch!... Sorry, bastard. _

"Calm it _down_!" The drill sergeant voice bellowed through the quiet house, halting the struggling with a look of confusion. "Better." Gibbs muttered, "If I let you go, you will not run, understand." He got a moment of rigid silence before a slightly nod. Very slowly he released his grip of the jumper, never taking his eyes off the incredibly apprehensive ten year old.

"I just wanted my bag, I'm leaving see! I just want my bag; can I have my bag, please? I just want the bag!" The boy started gabbling, looking up at Gibbs with a pleading glare in the honest green eyes.

"Woah, woah, calm down." Gibbs knelt in front of the child, since there really wasn't any other way to keep eye contact without the kid straining his neck. "Are you Anthony DiNozzo?" He asked softly, watching the boy's reaction. He wrinkled his nose in obvious dislike at the name, but the realisation that this man actually knew his name hit him like a pie in the face.

"I'm not going back. I'm not! I'm not, you can't make me." The kid protested, although it was more or less a certainty that this was his name. Junior. Young Anthony DiNozzo backed up only to be caught by the shoulder. His eyes stared defiantly up at Gibbs, a glare impressive for a ten year old.

"Hey, I'm not gunna send you back, just wanna ask you some questions, kiddo. Understand?"

"I understand." And that sentence always left so much for interpretation. Yeah, he understood, Gibbs didn't doubt that, but that didn't mean that he believed him for a second. Even a millisecond.

"What are you doing here?" Gibbs asked after a moments sigh.

"Getting my bag." Snarky little guy, wasn't he.

"Before that?"

"Urm…nothing?"

"Try again."

"It was empty, I didn't know anyone would come back, wasn't like I did any harm…okay maybe the chair, sorry about the chair, I'll fix the chair, but you weren't here and it was all dark and cold and locked and stuff. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"If it was locked how did you get in without doing anything wrong, breaking and entering for instance?" At that the kid remained silent – for as long as seemed possible for him -, glaring dejectedly at his shoes.

"Nothin' wrong. House was empty." He muttered defiantly, causing Gibbs to roll his eyes, although it was quite hard not to smirk. He was a trained federal agent, a marine. He could resist a smirk caused by a little kid, couldn't he?

"Why did you come here, what were you looking for?" Gibbs asked, more firmly this time, tilting the boy's head up to meet the startling emerald eyes. It took a moment, but the boy continued to glare at him with cheek, jaw set.

"I was..." The kid shrugged. "Lookin' for somewhere to stay. And it was empty, not like the dust was gunna mind! Why was it all locked up anyway and you came back, looks like you're moving, but there's food." Okay, was this kid ADD or something? He'd just been caught breaking and entering – again- and he was wondering why the place looked like someone had gone a little haywire on the snow machine.

"Anthony-." He was cut off before he could really start that sentence.

"Tony. Anthony's what Father calls me and he always makes it sound like a command, I don't like getting commanded about, I ain't at military school or something." Gibbs blinked…okay?

"Tony." He tried again. "Did you run away from your father?" The little boy laughed, high pitched and almost scornful. Little boys shouldn't know what 'scornful' was and especially shouldn't be able to put it into a laugh.

"Wish I had run away, shoulda run away! Would've been best, but I didn't. _He _kicked me outta there. Nice warm bed too, said I wasn't _needed _any more. Why would I be _needed_?Other parents don't need their kids, right?"

_Okay, so many questions, not enough time to process, make kid be quiet, although he's very cute and really likable._

_**Uh…Leroy?**_

_Yes, the other side of my brain which kicks in with logic whenever it is not asked to._

_**Did you just say this kid is…**_**cute?**

_Yeah, and?_

_**Ha, goin' soft Gunny!**_

Gibbs blinked, inner mental battles were a strange occurance.

"Wait, wait, Tony, wait. Who kicked you out? Out of where?" He had a pretty clear idea though.

"My _father._ Said I was getting too old or something, I wasn't really listening, he gets kinda lecture-y and I can't help it, I just sorta zone out. I just notice more stuff, my teacher, Mr. Grayson, he says I 'day dream', but you can't dream in the day 'cos you're not asleep, so I don't know what a day dream is." _This kid talks more than Kelly did…Kelly._

"Tony, I need you to start from the beginning." The boy looked up, even though he was kneeling, his eyes hard to read although utterly honest.

"I don't want to?"

"Don't want to what?" Gibbs voice softened, unconsciously leading the boy towards the comfortable sofa. Without much thought he seated himself down and after a moment little Anthony DiNozzo Junior curled his knees up to his chest next to him, snuggling into the soft cushions. He was still eyeing the NCIS agent warily, and Gibbs couldn't be asked to tell the kid to get his shoes off the sofa cushions, he pushed with the question again.

"Don't want you to know, you'll…you'll take me back to him."

Gibbs jaw tightened slightly. Well, he wasn't going to be doing that anyway. For one, the kid had just said that his father had _kicked _him out. Kicked him out!(Sure, he had no idea why he believed the kid, but he did) Two, he'd met Anthony DiNozzo Senior, oily as his hair and slick speaking with a purr far too sinister for a child's parent. No, he wasn't going back there.

"Buddy, I'm gunna try all I can, but I need to know what happened." Those huge green eyes stared at him, holding the gaze most adults couldn't catch, let alone look back. Finally Tony stopped chewing on his bottom lip, his voice soft and earnest.

…

_Cars milling through the streets of Washington, and none stood out. Not the non-descript black sedan, the windows blacked out to the street and the sides polished to mirror perfection. Why would that stand out in Washington D.C? The sedan had just one occupant, sitting rod straight in his vehicle, watching the road with cold, dead eyes._

_Every now and then a soft slithering from the back broke the silence, the sound of straw moving against cardboard. The driver glanced in the rear view mirror at the long, wide cardboard box stretched across the back seat, taped up securely. A twice of a smirk quirked the side of the drivers mouth as he changed lanes, his eyes glittering with dark glee, the only life dancing in those dark orbs._

…

**Tardy, but here. And thank you so much for the reviews, it warms ones heart. And that one's for Jen and Anni, and Jen, let's see some cliffhanger challenges. Yours was a beauty, we'll see what's going on soon, eh? Thank-you dutiful and lovely readers.**

**Soul Music**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: A Dance of Flame and Shadows**

_Three Months Previously_

_The streets were no place for a child, no place for a young boy to be hiding, his hooded jumper pulled tightly around his neck. No, the streets weren't a welcoming area, for anyone. They just weren't. For a child so young, for a spirit so resilient to be somewhere to make the strongest man so fragile. But when they come, do they stay to the streets? No they do not, to find somewhere is to survive. An instinct from the dawn of birth. To live, to survive. It can be the only way._

"Anthony! Anthony! Where the hell are you?" The voice cut like knife across the shattering glass of a daydream he'd just been having. The door slammed open, smacking back against the wall and almost taking it off the hinges. The little boy scrambled off the be, tripping slightly on a toy dinosaur on the expensive carpet. He as saved from an undignified fall by a film hand on his shoulder, gripping painfully into his bony collarbone.

"Anthony! What the hell here you doing?" The angry voice which had instilled fear by the dozen on the flaxen haired boy once again caused his exuberance to dull.

"Sorry, father."

"Oh…you're sorry? Sorry! And I'm supposed to forgive you just because _you're sorry?_ I don't know why you're still here. Why I still keep you around. What is the _point _of you?" The suited businessman shoved the child away in disgust, dark, hollow eyes blazing. Not the same dark green of the boy, but a dulled, blank brown which , for once, was not tainted by the far gone ruined by the ravishing of alcohol. For once it seemed that A. DiNozzo Senior was in his right mind – at least what was left of his right mind. The child stared dejectedly at his feet, shuffling them over the carpet.

"What is your use? You disgust me. Just… Just…leave."

Huge green eyes stared up shocked, a pure picture of beautiful innocence. He blinked at the tall man before him, confusion from a topic a ten year old was hardly likely to understand.

"You're just…just cluttering up this house…Got enough memories from Eleanora's…things. Just littering, I should…I should clean, make this place my own again. 'Bout time I started getting rid of things, rid of _memories? _Yes." The businessman muttered, his memories of his deceased wife whom he'd loved with whatever fibres of his being he could find. He missed her so much and every time he say this…boy, his son, the memories came back so much harder.

"I'll do better, Father. I promise, I'm sorry!"

"No, Anthony!" It was a shriek rather than a command.

"Now, it's too late, I don't care if you say you're sorry, I don't care if you didn't mean it every time you make a 'mistake' it's…It's done now, you've damaged this…family more than even I recognise. I can't take it anymore!"

A slap across the face.

"You're…Yes! You're nothing but worthless filth. I never – I don't think – I never wanted you, why would I want something like you." Who reminds me so many times of my precious Eleanora? "Get out of my sight…no…Get out of my house!"

The boy dodged the fist sent in his direction, fighting back his tears which welled up in expressive eyes. Skirting the man, the agile ten year old Anthony DiNozzo Junior fled from the room, down two flights of stairs and out across the gravelled porch. No-one questioned the child of the house in near tears running as fast as his short legs could carry him. It was a normal occurrence across the grounds of the DiNozzo estate.

Tony went to the only place his young mind could comprehend. The gardeners cottage.

Set back behind a small cops of trees near the west edge of the estate, the cottage was a picture of countryside tranquillity. The boy skidded to a top by the door, forgetting the ornate knocker in the shape of a fork and spade, banging his small fist on the painted wood.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." An elderly voice muttered from the other side, the locks sliding back.

"What d'you-Anthony?" The elderly man, John the Gardener, stared at the small boy standing dejectedly in front of him.

"Oh no." John sighed, standing back to allow the dishevelled boy entry, the red mark on his cheek already blossoming.

"Poppy." He called back through the little cottage. An elderly lady appeared at the doo to the kitchen, dish towel in hand.

"Oh, Tony." The boy took no time in folding himself into Poppy's embrace, John closing the door behind him.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"So, you stayed with the gardener? Why aren't you there now?" Gibbs asked, his blue eyes stilled trained on the curled up boy snuggled into the cushions. What had changed? Couldn't've been the Police search, That was months ago. This kid hadn't been staying in his house for months. Less than a week according to Berggie.

Tony fiddled with one of the cushions he'd pulled against his chest like a teddy bear, picking at the faded lace.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

We can't keep him here, Poppet." John's voice was quiet across the well scrubbed kitchen table.

"Why not?"

"If the police come looking again and find him it won't just be our jobs on the line. They'll take him back up to the house. It'll never end well."

"Then what are we supposed to do, John? If he's not here then where do you suggest we take him."

John took a deep breath, drumming his calloused fingers against the table top. He looked up wearily at his long-life wife.

"Matthew?"

"Mathew? But he lives all the way in-."

"Exactly! Tony'll be safe, much safer than he'll be here. When he's gone we'll report DiNozzo, get more evidence, make sure the house staff aren't scared and but him behind bars. As long as Tony's safe, if he isn't we can't do anything except worry. Poppy didn't look convinced, but with a long sigh she nodded gloomily.

The third Sunday of 6each month was the day that John got free, the day he had no overseeing of the army of gardeners slaving over the DiNozzo lawns.

The battered old station wagon cat had been filled with Poppy and John as well as a hidden little bo clutching a bag packed by the only maid of the DiNozzo estate willing to risk her career and "clean" the boy's room.

A thick sheet covered the child, keeping his out of view as the estate car pulled off DiNozzo property.

The travelling was silent, little Tony hugging his bag to his chest, chin resting on the top as his eyes flicked past the scenery. Both Poppy and John were tense, John's hands glued to the steering wheel, jaw set tightly.

The turnoff towards Washington through the District of Colombia was exactly quiet, but it wasn't as busy as a week day travelling. Tony was drifting in and out of sleep as his head bobbed wearily. It was John's soft growl which jerked him out of slumber.

"What is it?" Poppy asked quickly, her voice a few notes higher.

"That car's still followin' up, been following us for miles." John muttered, changing lane quickly and taking a sharper turn into another path.

The two dark cars behind them followed suit, dodging around the traffic to follow up the new street which wound through Washington.

"Whas goin' on?" Tony murmured sleepily, one fist rubbing at his eyes.

"Nothing, honey, just keep your head down." Poppy attempted to encourage the small child, trying to give a sense of calm. Wasn't like the situation was exactly going to help, but words might?

Not really. Not with the inquisitiveness of the youngster in the back seat.

One of the cars behind, which had been sedately following for the past thirty miles, suddenly gunned its engine, the wheels squeaking on the asphalt as it streak towards the station wagon. John swore loudly, shoving his foot to the floor. The old car roared its protest, the grumble of an abused engine drowning out any other shout.

A bend in the road caused the inside black sedan to career on two wheels, smacking down onto the concrete with a crunch, the speed picking up again as the second car slowly crept up the outside.

John flashed a terrified look at his wife, but she nodded her agreement to the silent decision.

The station wagon swerved in a sharp turn right in front of the outside sedan, making the driver skid on the brakes. John spun the car through the turns of the multi-story car park, the car squealing at every opportunity of a turn.

Screeching to a halt on the third story of the car park, John halted the car in the shadow of a huge yellow Dodge truck.

"Run, Tony." The little boy stared wide eyed.

"Out, now! Just run, we'll find you." John pushed harder, his eyes darting in the mirrors for a sign of the sedan.

"But-." Tony's bottom lip quivered as he was cut off.

"No! It's for your own safety, Anthony. You need to run!"

With shining eyes, the ten year old grabbed the handle of the back door, taking off at a sprint, dragging his bag along with him. He didn't look back at the screech of tires which left dark wheel tracks on the asphalt.

* * *

XXX

By the end of the story, even before the last mumbled word had passed his lips, the boy was asleep. The arm of the sofa acted as a pillow whilst the cushion was still cuddled close as a stuffed toy.

Gibbs blinked. The kid had told him in a complete monotone, his voice never straying except to yawn. But…think about it; think about what he'd just said. His father had kicked him out, abused him and then kicked him out. He'd been taken from somewhere he felt safe and left alone in… who knows where? But, he'd found his way here.

The agent ran a ragged hand down his face, eyes inexplicably drawn to the resting figure of the small boy. Standing gently so as not to disturb the sofa and the boy positioned tightly curled upon it, Gibbs fetched one of the soft blankets from the linen closet half way up the stairs. With almost exaggerated care, Gibbs found himself draping the blanket over the slumbering form, tucking one side over the edge. One hand, out of some almost forgotten habit, hovered over the mussed hair but he drew back, fingers stretching at his side.

The night pulled on, Gibbs having fought down his brooding decisions of stay or leave and had positioned himself in the thick armchair across from the sofa, a book propped up on his thighs whilst his feet rested on the coffee table.

The time drew closer to morning, Gibbs head lolling towards his chest as his eyes flickered shut.

Not for long.

A deafening explosion tore through the front window leading onto the street. Glass shattered in a thousand silver shards, cascading down and blowing out across the carpet. Wood cracked and splintered sending hurled handfuls over the living room with an almighty concussive force, jagged edges slicing down across the carpet and occupied furniture.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Nobody's Ever Heard**

The concussion was enough to wake the sleeping youngster with a cry of surprise. Gibbs had been out of his chair in a second, lunging for the safely locked LocksBox which housed his personal handgun. He hadn't bothered to lock it again. With a quick motion he kicked the first side lamp off the table, smashing it into darkness and quickly pulled the plug of the second, sending the entire room into a dusky gloom.

With more force than strictly necessary, the agent grabbed the young boy's shoulder, pulling him onto the carpet as the glass shattered across the floor. The boy let out a yelp, lost in the concussion of a collapsing wall which had once stood out across the street.

"C'mon." Gibbs muttered, pushing Tony in front of him as he crawled across the strewn floor, his knees occasionally pressing against a splinter of sliver. The boy scrambled along across the floor, using one hand with his huge green eyes plastered open with unknown fear. He watched the agent yank open a fine-set wooden door leading onto a patch of stairs casting downwards.

"Down." Was the curt command which didn't need to be given twice as something banged ominously above the now quieting ruckus. Tony jumped down the last three steps without meaning to, almost tripping on the stone floor before Gibbs caught him securely with a strong arm around the shoulders.

For once keeping his mouth closed, Tony was ushered silently to one of the work benches, ignoring the looming skeleton of the grim boat. Hardly without meaning to be told, Tony was bundled underneath a bench, he hadn't even noticed the trembling which had erupted in his small frame, the dripping pain in his left forearm. Without hardly meaning to, Tony found his fingers curling into the lapel of Gibbs jacket, and he only realised he'd done so when the arm around him tightened, gathering the small boy against a solid chest.

Gibbs kept his right hand on the weapon, his torso keeping the boy with his back to the wall in the corner, shielding him from anything coming from the front entrance – the only entrance.

"Just keep real quite, okay, Tony." He muttered to the trembling child tucked against his chest, brushing his free hand across the back of his hair. He got a single, quick nod against his shirt which satisfied him at the moment, yet it didn't last for long. The tell-tale creak of the upstairs floorboard echoed horribly around the basement. Tony's shoulders tensed just as the creaking floorboards stopped ominously, his eyes widening with impending fear. Gibbs rubbed a comforting hand across the boy's shoulder blades, attempting to calm the shuddering breaths as he concentrated both on the door and keeping his own breathing rate slow and steady.

It wasn't easy, especially when you had no insider knowledge and the sounds of something large and heavy was moved. It scraped across the hardwood flooring, something Gibbs couldn't work out as an object, maybe two objects? Then it stopped. It all stopped. The creaking faded away, the scraping vanished. There was no sound at all except the…no, the car? A far driving off, away. Gibbs breathed a breath of relief, squeezing one of the slightly relaxed shoulders against his chest.

"Hey, Tony, it's okay. It's alright." He muttered to the fidgeting form who's big green eyes were staring at him with apprehension. "They're gone now." Of course, he had no way to know this, they might be waiting outside, but scaring the child any more didn't sound like a fantastic idea right now. The kid nodded; he didn't exactly look impressed, but at least he took the knowledge.

"Uhm…sir?" The small voice drew Gibbs gaze back to the small boy, his eyes questioning.

"Tony?" Gibbs pressed after a moments silence and indecision. The boy, unwilling the answer or admit to the fact pain was affecting him reluctantly held out his left arm. Gibbs eyes narrowed in anger, though in no way for the young boy in front of him, who took it that way, drawing back his arm quickly.

"No, no, Tony. Let me see." Gibbs softened his voice, ducking his head slowly from underneath the work bench, Tony following him slowly.

The young kid's left arm had a wide rip down the centre of his sleeve, hanging loose now from the elbow of his shirt. His forearm was a winding spider web of thin trickling lines of glass cuts, the eerie light from the one high up window Gibbs' basement had glinting off tiny shards of glass.

"God Tony," Gibbs muttered, taking the boy's wrist gently, moving it into the dim light from the window to examine the damage done by the bastard's excavation explosion. Who cared about the damage to his front windows or the wall that had stood over the street and driveway, these bastards hadn't been careful about who they were dealing with now. It wasn't just a scared little boy sprinting for his life through the dark streets of Washington; this was a marine in protection mode. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, or at all.

"Let's get it looked at, it hurt?" He asked gently, stroking his thumb across the back of Tony's hand, watching the little boy toy with his bottom lip between his teeth. He got a tiny nod, the nod of a tough little kid fighting off the onslaught of tears. Gibbs nodded back glumly, his gun still with the safety off, held steady by his hip as he guided the boy towards the door.

There was the slightest squeak from across the basement just as Gibbs made it to the bottom of the stairs. His quick reflexes and keen hearing picked up on the rusted hinges of a window rarely opened protesting to the sudden movement. Within milliseconds Tony was behind him, blocked out completely from the view of the small basement window.

The hinges screeched again, the final movement Gibbs needed to set off three rounds towards the dusted glass. He felt Tony jump behind him, but it was the satisfying yelp and a curse which he paid attention to. But, he obviously hadn't been as lucky as hoped. Something thumped – well, three somethings – thumped against the stone floor with an almost wet slap. Three very angry somethings.

"Up the stairs!" Gibbs whispered as the slick hissing filled the enclosed room. Gibbs fired four times more towards the window but the dark figure which had blocked out the light had clambered away.

Tony scrambled up the stairs, right hand flying to the door handle and turning… Nothing happened. He yanked at it again, pushing on the wooden frame with a shoulder.

"Tony?" The agent called, finally finishing mentally cursing for his missed shot. Seven shots, only one hit. _Not good enough Jethro, not with a kid. Just not good enough. _

"Door won't open!" There was a hint of panic in the childish tones, pure fear in those clear green eyes. Gibbs joined his - …ward? – at the top of the wooden stairs, giving the door a sturdy push with his shoulder, thumping into the wood. Nothing happened. Not the first time, not the second, not the third or the fourth. That door wasn't budging.

That hissing was getting more and more insistent, a low rumbled across the floor with the soft scuff of dust as the creatures moved closer. Tony clutched automatically at Gibbs sleeve cuff, which was also slightly ripped from the scrambled across the glass shattered floor, his left arm forgotten. Gibbs took the hand in his for a moment, squeezing reassurance.

"Okay, Tony, this is what we're gunna do. I'm gunna get you over the banisters and onto the boat, you stay on the boat, right in the middle, okay? You don't get off and keep yourself inside the hull, got it, kiddo?"

"Got it." Came the almost whispered reply as Gibbs took hold of the thin rail going across as a banister, bringing a foot down to snap the wood off.

"Okay, Tony, you're gunna have to jump for me, right onto the boat, okay?" Tony nodded nervously as Gibbs manoeuvred the boy in front of him, reading to help him get his feet securely onto the wooden decking.

"Good, Tony!" The agent praised as the kid scrambled, as per instruction, to the centre of the barely started woodworking project, tucking his knees up against his chest, right arm pulled around his legs. Gibbs, eyeing the thick set, well over a metre long reptiles, silently thanked whoever was listening that he had a phone-line in his basement. He just hadn't taken it down yet. Shannon had asked him repeatedly to run the phone wires down into the basement as whenever Gibbs had been back from tour he missed almost every call when he was down in the basement with Kelly. He just hadn't gotten round to taking it down yet. Now he was incredibly thankful of this lack of courage.

Managing to just reach the phone's bracket by reaching across from the stairs, Gibbs made the same way as Tony onto the boat, stretching the phone to the limit of its chord as it dialled a familiar number. He rested a secure arm around Tony's shoulders, keeping him levelled against his side as the phone rang for what seemed eternity.

"_Extension 412, Autopsy." _A voice answered on the eighth ring of the telephone. Gibbs grit his teeth, Ducky's insufferable medical assistant just had to answer the phone at this point.

"Where's Doctor Mallard, Collins?"

"_Can I ask who's calling for him?" _Came the cool reply.

"Agent Gibbs, is he there?" Gibbs patience wasn't up for this.

"_I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs, I didn't realise you ere back, but no, he's not around here t the moment."_

"Then where is he?"

"_I couldn't possibly tell you."_

"You can, and you will, Collins. Where is he?"

"_He went home, Agent Gibbs, where do you think Doctor Mallard would be at eight thirty of an evening."_

Gibbs couldn't be asked to listen to the assistant medical examiner's little rant. He couldn't stand Collins on the best of days. The hissing was getting more and more frustrated as the poor angered creatures came painfully beware that they were out of their comfort zone, painfully aware.

"_Mallard residence."_

"Ducky," Gibbs sighed in relief before even the third ring of the second phone number he dialled.

"_Jethro? I wasn't aware you had returned from your…trip. That's not to say I am not glad to hear from you, though I am surprised."_

"Good Duck, I need your help,"

"_Of course, Jethro, but tell me what it is first."_

"It's a long story. A boy showed up at my house, kicked out by his father, needed somewhere to stay, something exploded. They attacked the house. Ducky, they're after Tony and they don't care about collateral damage."

There was silence on the line for a moment. _"Tell me exactly what you need done, Jethro."_

"I need your knowledge of Ophiology-."

"_Snakes? What is going on?"_

"They set some sort of snake, locked us in the basement, they're not happy animals,  
but, I don't know if they're poisonous or just pissed."

"_Can you describe them, any markings, length, shape of head?" _Ducky's curt question had Gibbs's eyes searching for the angry reptiles as they slithered sulkily across the floor, hissing with ferocious spite. He gave as concise and detailed description he could see in the dim light, though it wasn't much.

"Duck, get some agents here, anyone who's on call, get them over to my house now. Tell them to come armed and prepared, I don't think there's anyone here but they need to be prepared. Get them here ASAP."

"_Of course, Jethro, and whilst you are there, take into account that these snakes are most likely poisonous and highly dangerous. I cannot say for sure which breed they are but they sound like a cobra from the general description. Cobras are extremely dangerous, they can spit and blind, keep on guard and do not let one bite you under any circumstances, many cobras can kill in under ten minutes. Stay safe, Jethro, both of you."_

Gibbs hung up, tucking the little boy under his chin as one of the reptiles snapped viciously at the side of the boat, the flash of long white fangs glinting in the pale moonlight.

* * *

**Another chapter gone and ready for the next. Well, I can't exactly leave it so, can I? Well, I could but that would leave it unfinished and I really dislike unfinished projects and stories, everything needs a closed up ending when it comes to stories. Unless of course a sequel, a triquel or even quadrel comes into play at some point. Thanks for the reviews and just for reading,**

**Soul Music [Eryn]  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Break Down The Doors  
**

The call wasn't one any of the teams which might've been on call that night would've expected. Most late night calls consisted of burglaries, pouring over cold cases and looking through the long, long legal documents associated with cases. None of which, except the burglary depending on the type, were of much interest, but there was always someone manning the building.

Calls are diverting hither and thither, finally getting to their destination once the right extension has been reached. Luckily, at this time of night, extensions weren't bounced around as much, and the call towards extension 213 was picked up by the Agent in charge, Edmund Tannings. Or Teddy as his wife called him.

"Special Agent Tannings." He'd picked up without enthusiasm, getting a quick glance from his subordinates who were all slightly hyped up on coffee and bored out of their mind.

"I'm sorry, can you…repeat that?" Tanning's stuttered on his words, blinking in a confused fashion. Tannings listened for a moment longer before offering an affirmative motion and hanging up.

"Get the car, Cadman, arm up quick." He barked the order, already reaching into his top drawer where his holster and weapon was sitting peacefully. Royce Cadman never needed to be told something twice when orders were involved and grabbed the keys off Tanning's desk, taking the stairs three at a time to get from their second floor office to the garage. Elliot Nielson, Tanning's probationary agent, tagged along behind, slipping his newly checked weapon into the hip holster. Running a hand through his black hair, Elliot Nielson followed Tanning's to the elevator, trying to keep listening to his instructions.

**:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Tony huddled closer to the solid mass of marine bred body which was keeping him safe, the tension hadn't left his body for minutes now, a continuous high of contracted muscle and darting eyes. But, that was just it, his eyes. His head left light, fuzzy like someone had started to shut out all the sounds except his short breathing. Each time one of the serpents hissed he felt himself shiver, but was he just cold? He felt quite cold, but that was fear right? Ten year olds were allowed to feel scared, weren't they, he was _only _ten. People always told him he was _only _some age, so it was okay to feel scared. Yeah, that was logical, right!

Gibbs eyes flicked onto the only snake which was in his eye line. It was circling around the foot of the stairs, its eyes occasionally catching the dim light, flashing ominously. The dust and strewn wood slivers which littered the floor were pushed aside in a soft slithering of scales over the stone floor. It might just've been paranoia, but that snake was watching him; waiting for something.

Tony cringed back against him again as something crunched into the side of the…almost boat. He could feel the small tremors through the even smaller body, the shuddering and the soft, quick breath against his forearm as he wrapped it tighter, keeping a quiet grip to reassure…well the boy of course. And yes, why not himself?

"It's okay, Tony." He muttered softly, keeping a blue eye steadily on the circling serpent as it flicked a tail round sharply, slapping against the wooden staircase with a high pitched screeching hiss. He stroked his free hand through the boy's hair, frowning slightly at something strange, some strange sensation under his fingertips. A moist, clammy touch as one hand held his shirt. Looking down, even in the dim light, the boy was looking paler than his previous vague Mediterranean colouring. The boy's deep green eyes were flicking back and forth with a dull glow, trying to catch a glimpse of the threatening, unnecessarily angered creatures whilst fighting the urge to bury his head in Gibbs' shirt.

Gibbs opened his mouth to say something soothing and comforting when a sickening crunch from upstairs had the little boy unconsciously cowering into Gibbs' lap. Simultaneously, Gibbs wrapped his arms around the quaking back; eyes flicking from the door back to the reptile at the bottom of the steps, back to the door again.

But, the door didn't move. His phone, however, did. The strict, measured tone pulling the thoughts of dancing snakes and flashing teeth towards the telephone.

"_Jethro."_ He was greeted with the clear cut English accent the moment he picked up the receiver.

"Ducky, where the hell are you?"

"_Calm down, I'm outside with Agent Tanning's team. You told me you were in the basement, there is no entrance to the basement we can make out." _Gibbs blinked back his confusion.

"It's the wooden door in the living room, set back in the wall, directly in front of the kitchen arch." There was a pause on the line.

"_I'm afraid there's a large cabinet in that position Is there some other entrance.."_

"Then take it down, do anything, just get that door open.!" Gibbs voice was raised only he quieten on the last word as a snake hissed a low growl of warning, lunging at the wooden structure with force enough to tear the delicate planking.

There was scraping coming from the floor above, a deep rumble of ancient wooden cabinets filled with Shannon's crockery and flatware. He should've removed that as well, but couldn't seem to get round to it.

"They're comin' Tony, its okay, I'm gettin' you out of here, like I promised." He momentarily tightened his grip on the child, fingers carding through the soft hair as he continued to listen to the heave of moving furniture.

And then there was light. The bright spark of a flashlight coursing around the stairs, joined by a second as a dark figure appeared at the stairs, sweeping the beam around the inside of the basement.

"Agent Gibbs?" A voice called. Gibbs vaguely recognised the voice, but couldn't quite place it at one point.

"Yeah, on the boat." He called back as a second figure joined the first, the speaker descending the stairs.

"Cadman, what are you doing? Remember the snakes!" The voice of Tanning's called inside. Gibbs didn't have a good relationship with Tannings. The first figure nodded, taking the steps carefully, his beam trained on the coiled up reptile at the foot of the stairs, his eyes catching the light.

"Hey, Cadman." Gibbs joined the calling conversation, gingerly standing up, still with Tony held safely against his chest, legs wrapped around his waist.

"Yes, sir?" Roy answered, having almost reached the bottom, letting Nielson's torchlight illuminate the Agent and child whilst he stayed focused on the snake who looked even more pissed than before.

"Cadman, get your ass back up here, Nielson, get back!" Tannings hissed again, getting completely ignored by…everyone. Gibbs unconsciously stroked the small boy's back through his clothing, eyes finally connecting with the young blonde agent.

"Take Tony." Was the quick command as he edged towards the edge of the wooden skeleton, the ribs curving around as though to grasp him tightly and hold him down.

His shoe scraped along the polished hull, the movement in each eye keeping the snakes on each side of the boat in check. One on each side and one in front. As though they were working together somehow. One snarled, giving a slight snap, Gibbs tried to ignore it, moving towards Roy's waiting position where he could take hold of the boy.

"Hey, buddy, I need you to let go." Gibbs whispered, addressing the boy. Tony didn't respond, his closed a weak fist around the back of Gibbs' collar.

"It's gunna be okay, Tony, I'm just gunna get ya over to Agent Cadman and then I'll meet you upstairs. We got a deal?" He coded, unwilling to simply pry the little hands away.

"Promise?" The voice was worryingly shaky.

"Promise." Gibbs assured, feeling the fingers unravelling and the grip loosening. He shot Roy a glance, trying to work out the best way to get close enough without just throwing the boy.

"Agent Gibbs, if you move across to the left I can get a grip on that bit of wood and reach out to ya." Roy offered, indicating one of the ribs closest to the staircase. Gibbs evaluated, something he didn't often do, processing before giving a brief nod. He was all about brevity.

"Cadman." There was a growl from the top of the stairs. "You're going to get yourself killed, stop being an idiot! If you're not back up here in-"

"Special Agent Tannings stand back from the door and shut your mouth." The doctor's voice cut through the annoyed grumbling, it would've been a moment to make Gibbs smile under the circumstances. But, no. Not now.

"Easy there, Gibbs." Roy muttered, most to himself than the other agent as the boat creaked gently, a snake making a quick lunge of freedom.

"Oh three." Gibbs gave the suggestion without any choice of other opinions. Roy just nodded.

"Tony, you stay close to Agent Cadman and get yourself up the stairs, 'kay?" Rhetorical question. The little boy nodded anyway.

Turning his attention back to Roy, Gibbs leaned as far as gravity would allow towards the stairs, one foot hooked around a rib to keep himself upright. Roy held out his arms, reaching as far as he could over the exasperated biological weapon.

The exchange would've gone smoothly. It wouldn't gone perfectly. But at that moment the cobra coiled up just below Roy's feet made a lunge for it. Roy had just grasped hold of the boy under his arms, pulling him back towards the stairs when the snake made a grab at his leg. Moving too quickly his foot went straight through the gap between two steps, causing him to fall heavily onto his side, Tony still grasped to his chest. The snake's hissing grew louder, filling the entire room as, seemingly in slow motion those huge white fangs drove straight through the side of Tony's shoe, held out over the steps.

Two voices yelled out at the same time, and neither was the higher pitch of a small boy.

Dragging his own foot out, Roy aimed his heel at the snake, a crunch making the room silently ring as the snake crumpled back, the sound of bones snapping dying down as Roy scrambled up, dragging the boy with only his single shoe on with him.

Gibbs had made a leap for the stairs, scrambling up after his boy and Roy, and slamming the basement door behind him.

Roy had set the little boy in the sofa cushions, sitting up groggily as Ducky hurriedly passed over the floor, kneeling down on the carpet. Gibbs took Roy's place quickly as he stood up to make room, taking in the little boy's appearance. His pallor was…awful, his colouring pale as the beige wall behind him. His breathing was quick and shallow, eyes wandering weakly, almost drunkenly as his brain refused to focus on anything.

"Keep him alert, Jethro." Ducky's insistent voice commanded as he lent two fingers to the boy's wrist.

"Hey, buddy, Tony." Gibbs cupped the boy's face in both his hands, tapping his left cheek gently. The green eyes slid over to him but still didn't focus, just stared blankly, the eyelids lazily blinking up and down.

"No, no, look at me, look at me Tony." Gibbs persisted as the eyes began to droop, the head becoming heavier. "Stay with me, bud, c'mon, c'mon!"

Gibbs eyes were wide as the eyes slid completely shut and the small child slumped bonelessly into his waiting arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: All My Sanity**

The pen clattered to the desktop as the swinging doors crashed into the wall with the force of the gurney.

"Sian, Leah, with me!" A low, deep voice commanded, ignoring his dropped pen as he stepped forward to meet the gurney, white doctor's coat flapping.

"Fill me in, Phillip."

"Ten year old boy, snake bite to the ankle, glass lacerations to the forearm. Unconscious for approx. twenty minutes." Phillip the eldest EMT informed, jogging beside the wheeled bed.

"Bring him to PR. Do we know the snake breed?"

"Sir, you have to stay outside." One of the nurses in their blue scrubs positioned herself in the way of the grizzly, glaring six foot wall of man. No response was forthcoming.

"Sir!"

"Get off me!"

"Jethro, let them do their work." A calmer, culture voice cautioned defiantly, forcibly pushing the man back from the Paediatric Resus doors which banged shut ominously.

PR was a mass of swarming activity.

"Pulse is rapid."

"Temperature rising."

"Over on three. One, two…Three."

"Localised swelling around left ankle."

"Lowering foot of the bed."

"Localised bleeding."

"He's lost a lot of blood from this arm, still full of glass."

"Immobilise the arm, Leah, find out the snake breed, we need that anti-venom."

"Yes, Doctor Fitzpatrick."

Gibbs stalked the waiting area like a prowling tiger, blue eyes flashing back and forth with the same menace.

"Jethro, sit down, he's in the best hands now."

"I could've got them, Ducky, but I missed. _Missed._" Was the only response the pathologist received from the pacing man. Ducky sighed softly, crossing his fingers in a habit of stressful times.

_Royce Cadman stood at the top of the basement steps, eyeing the two remaining reptiles below him. As far as he could tell, they were getting higher on the pissed off scale and were now circling down with their dead comrade near the bottom steps. _

"_Oh…kay." He murmured to himself, taking the stairs very, very slowly, the makeshift stick in one hand. It was actually just a spatula taped to a fire poker to make it longer, but he hoped it would be long enough. Careful as he could be, feeling the presence of Elliot Neilson, his partner, behind him, Roy knelt down on the fourth step from the top, bracing one hand against the cold wall as he reached out._

"_Careful, Roy." Nielson murmured, lingering by the door, one hand on the frame. _

_One of the creatures took a swipe at the specialised spatula, teeth clattering against the metal just as Roy wrenched it away. "For Godsake be careful, Roy!" Nielson hissed again._

"_I will be, and I'll concentrate if you shut up." Roy griped back, rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand before reaching down again. It was just a snake, nothing special, right? Wrong, it's going to kill you Royce! Crazy fool!_

_Roy made a last lunge, the end of the fire prong spearing the side of the mashed up snake's body, dragging it back as one of its comrades descended on the intruding metal with vengeance. _

"_Start the car, Elliot!" Roy yelled as he scrambled back, dragging the snake corpse with him up the stairs, the door slamming behind him hard enough to shake the woodwork. _

The door to the waiting room slammed open, revealing the angered and ugly figure of Edmund Tannings.

"Cadman and Nielson, where've you sent them Gibbs?" His voice was gravelly and snarling. The marine turned on his heel, contempt burning in his pale eyes; he observed Tannings with thorough distaste, but he gave no vocal answer. Mostly because he could see the black jacketed figures of the asked for agents hurrying up. Roy was the first to speak, slightly out of breath from the sprint up two flights of stairs.

"Got the snake to them, should be in time I guess. Any news yet?" He asked, ignoring his boss and addressing Gibbs with a direct eye, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"Nothin' yet." Gibbs replied, turning away from Tannings and taking a seat, Nielson stayed quiet behind him. Especially after seeing the smouldering look Tannings was sending Roy's way. The young blonde man seemed utterly oblivious.

"Cadman." The growl was low and measured. The man in question finally turned.

"Tannings."

"What – the hell – were you doing?"

"My job, _sir._" Roy kept his voice calm for the moment.

"Your job? Your job is to follow my orders! What were my orders, _Special Agent _Cadman?"

"I'm afraid I wasn't quite listening, Special Agent Tannings."

"This is severe insubordination, Royce Cadman. Are you trying to get yourself fired, because you are _this _close."

"Really, sir, 'this' close?" Roy nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "And I would be fired for what? Insubordination? And does that mean that under the Special Agent Edmund Tannings' definition of insubordination there happens to be 'letting children die because of the risk to an agent'?" Roy's calm façade was crumbling, the muscles in his arm and muscles clenching slowly. "Does insubordination mean ignoring the right to preserve life? For Gods sake, Tannings, we're federal agents! We lay down our lives for the public every damn day, yet you say that _children _aren't worth that? What the hell is wrong with you? You want to fire me? Go ahead, I don't think I _could _work with something like you any longer. I'd rather work with the CIA than with you. I'll make it easier, less paperwork for you. I quit." Roy finished with a piercing glare, dropping himself down onto a chair and stretching out his legs.

Tannings stared stunned at his former agent, mouth open like a beached fish. "I'll…I won't…I…C'mon Nielson." The senior agent turned slowly, pulling up the collar of his jacket as he walked out. Nielson glanced over at Roy.

"Elliot." Roy's voice was calmer, advising. Nielson's dark eyes dropped to the floor.

"I need this job, Roy." With the final statement Nielson hurried away after his tyrannical superior.

The moment the doors closed Roy leaned back in his chair with a sigh, hands resting in his lap.

Doctor Mallard switched his gaze, which had been on the young blonde agent, over to Gibbs, who had remained quiet throughout the outburst. The pathologist's gaze was meaningful.

"Cadman." Gibbs voice cut quietly through the silence.

"Yes, Gibbs." Roy just turned his eyes in the marine's general direction.

"Third floor, first desk on the left." Cadman blinked, opening his mouth, but the door beat him to it.

"Good evening, gentlemen." A tall, dark haired doctor slipped into the room, resting his hands into the pockets of his clean white lab coat. "My name is Doctor Connor Fitzgerald, I was Tony's doctor."

"How's he doing?" Oddly enough it was Ducky who spoke up first, rising to his feet, Gibbs following with Roy.

"Under the circumstances perfectly well. We believe the loss of consciousness was more in part to shock and the blood loss from the lacerations he sustained than the poison. We administered the anti-venom and have moved him for an X-Ray to see the damage of the glass so we may considered different options of action." The doctor spoke as one giving a lecture, but at least the information came through.

"Can I see him?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr…"

"Gibbs."

"Mr. Gibbs. He has been transferred to Radiology, but he has been assigned a room, I can get a nurse to escort you up there. Then you shall be there when he returns?"

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome." Doctor Fitzgerald seemed to summon a nurse out of thin air from the amount of attention Gibbs was paying.

As the nurse was leading the group out of the room, Gibbs received a slight nod from Roy, and he returned it. The new agent under Gibbs peeled off, making for the exit signs whilst Doctor Mallard accompanied Gibbs after the nurse.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Anti-venom is a strange invention. To put it bluntly and simply; anti-venom is a molecular sponge. It sponges up the venom to prevent damage, whether it happens to be neuro-damage or damage from a hemotoxin. Neither are pleasant, and an anti-venom is usually the only option. Some are strong, some are weak, most work.

When it comes to lacerations, there can be complications. First stop the bleeding, that just common sense. Clean the wound, again, common sense. Remove particulates; dirt, hair…glass. Never. Ever. Use soap. It hurts. Disinfect and bind. It's simple, usually. But, then there are arteries, veins, capillaries, and blood vessels can make things so much more difficult.

Luckily, that's what doctors are for. They are trained in an art form which takes years to learn and longer to master, if it is ever mastered truly. But, that is how life works, some things are simple, some are hard. All are necessary.

Hospital rooms are not meant to be lived in. They aren't usually cosy, welcoming or bright…unless someone's gone a little crazy with the paint. But, in this room there was nothing of the sort. It was sterile, boring and…clean. Just traditional. But, with no bed it was also empty.

Gibbs scrubbed a hand over his face before sitting back into his chair.

"I didn't quite expect you to hire Royce Cadman." Ducky commented from a chair adjacent to Gibbs'. Gibbs merely grunted.

"He's a good agent, I'm sure, a former Petty Officer, yet now you have a four man team, have you spoken to Morrow?"

"No need, only a three man team, Jenny's transferred." Gibbs curt response set the Scotsman's eyebrows up.

"Transferred where, exactly?" Gibbs merely shrugged, figuratively ending the conversation there. Ducky knew when pushing was futile, changing the subject occasionally worked, though.

"It wasn't your fault, Jethro."

"What wasn't? The fact that Tony got an arm full of glass or that he got chewed on by a snake?"

"Either. Neither. You can't prevent everything, take your rewards where they come. The boy is alive, out of danger and still has you looking out for him."

"Yeah, because me looking out for him makes his life _so _much safer."

"That attitude won't, but the usual Gibbs strength will. Forgive yourself, Jethro, before you try anything…rash."

"I'm not being rash, Duck. He's not safe here, he needs protective custody."

"Yet, he will not feel safe with them, whoever they are."

"But he will be safe, that's what matters." Gibbs spoke defiantly, refusing to meet the pathologists eye.

"And you don't care if the boy _feels _safe?" The question was met with a stony silence, no answer. He didn't have an answer for that one, or did he? Yes, he did. He wanted the boy to feel safe, wanted him to feel protected and wanted, but he wasn't safe. That was the voice in the back of his mind, taking over the conversation. What he wanted obviously didn't matter. Tony needed to be safe, and he wasn't safe with him.

"I'll give him over to Fornell,"

"If you're sure, Jethro. But, after that, after this entire debacle ends, what will happen to him?" Gibbs shrugged again, fingers clenching slightly and unferling.

"Child protection. Adoption. Fostering." He listed with almost undistinguished glumness.

"Would you do that to him, Jethro?"

Finally the blue haired agent turned his burning eyes on the pathologist.

"I have to, Ducky. I can't keep him safe, and I won't destroy my boys life for the safe of my selfishness." His voice held a defiant quaver, a distinct sadness, something Ducky had never heard in his friends voice. He believed what he said, and his mind was made up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: If I Could...Would I?**

The room was empty. Emptier, in feeling more than physicality, even before Doctor Mallard had entered to wait upon the arrival of the young boy. But, even though it was now occupied by a stationary hospital bed, a heart monitor and a list of other machines blinking away, the room still felt empty. And that was because of the quiet missing piece.

There was no Gibbs.

No matter what Ducky had stated, asked, pleaded, even passed judgement on, Gibbs had slipped out just before the bed had been wheeled in. Whether intentional or not, he hadn't seen the boy sound asleep amongst the wrappings of sheets like an adorable Christmas present.

There was a quiet rap at the door which caused the M.E. to look up from his silent musings. Only five hours on the job and Royce Cadman was already standing up to the daunting job of working under Jethro Gibbs.

"So, what's the verdict?" Roy questioned in a voice barely above a whisper as he shut the curtain behind him. Ducky took a moment to answer, contenting himself just to watch the small boy – who had curled onto his side sometime in the past hour or so.

"He'll be fine." Ducky, for once in his lifetime, didn't feel like going into the intense and meticulous details of this event in his life. Roy accepted the answer with a nod, placing the manila folder he'd had in one hand on the vacant bedside table.

"Gibbs somewhere?"

"Somewhere, but not here." Ducky's voice held a barely concealed trace of bitterness which Roy picked up on quickly, knowing the usually amiable pathologist's voice from the occasional medical check up.

"He...gunna be back?"

"It's doubtful, what errand was he having you run?" Ducky finally tore his eyes away from the youthful face, relaxed in rest, looking up at the junior agent snatched from another team.

"Wanted transfer papers, filing all the paperwork for the FBI to take over a case. Don't get me wrong, I'm...maybe ecstatic is the wrong word, but I look forward to working with Gibbs, but from what I've heard of his reputation, he doesn't tend to leave things half finished. Personally, giving the kid over to the FBI counts as half-finished."

Mallard sighed inwardly, pushing himself up from the hospital chair provided for the purpose of sitting vigil beside an invalid. He reached for the curtain, pulling it back to indicate the exit of both himself and the young agent. Roy picked up the manila folder as he ducked out of the curtain, pulling the fabric closed behind him.

"You indeed picked a...difficult time to find yourself employed by Agent Gibbs. Tell me what, according to the transference documents, will happen to Tony, please?" Roy considered the request for a moment. It wasn't quite prudent to do so, but...under the circumstances?

"As Gibbs told me to, I asked specifically for Agent Fornell and his team. I told Agent Fornell it would be a favour for Gibbs and he seemed to accept that, it was easier than I thought it would be. Fornell will take over protection detail when he arrives later today, sign the papers and, as Fornell puts it, 'the boy will be out of your hands'." Roy finished with a slight note of distaste, but schooled his expression not the show it too much.

"I know this is strictly not part of your job description, but could you keep an eye on Tony?"

"Now or then?"

"Preferably both."

"Done. The missus is out of town," He shrugged as way of explanation. He glanced at the closed curtain for a moment, mind clicking away. "Can I just ask a question, Doctor Mallard?"

"Of course."

"You said now was a bad time to be hired by Gibbs. Does that mean he's more of a beast than his reputation suggests, if so, why now?" One can always tell a young investigator away from a young agent.

"Gibbs just returned from a somewhat long and possibly arduous mission to Europe, and whilst I know none of the precise details, I have not had long enough to gauge it's affect on him. Before yesterday night I had no idea he had even returned. But, understand Royce that Gibbs is a man of pride and passion. His pride runs through his job and his team, his passion comes from ideas I cannot tell you, but children are a fixated weakness for him. He blames himself for Tony being injured, and most probably blames himself for having the boy in that position in the first place."

"It can't have been his fault, though."

"It is unlikely Jethro will think of it in this way. Look over him, double check all identifications the FBI hand to you and make sure every i is dotted and each t crossed. Nothing can be out of order regarding this matter."

Roy nodded mutely. He didn't understand half of what he'd been told. Pride and passion, yes they were all natural aspects of investigation. But, Agent Gibbs' drive was known throughout the agency and could sometimes be referred to as boarding obsession. Even passion needed to know its own limitations.

_The middle floors of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Offices. Cubicles. Work Stations. A phone rang, one of the many adding to the shrill buzzing sweeping around the bustling floor. _

"_Agent Pritchard's desk, Pritchard speaking...But...but we had an agreement! No, sir...O-of course, sir. No, sir, please don't, I'll do it, just...don't do it! Yessir, yessir. I understand. Please, no. Please!" All that was on the end now was a dial tone. _

_The phone was replaced in the receiver cradle and another number was dialled._

"_Agent Fornell? This is Agent Pritchard from fifth floor, I hear you could use extra back-up?"_

Roy had been flicking unenthusiastically through one of the medical magazines he's swiped from the nurse's station when the bundle of fabric shifted on the bed. He raised his blue eyes towards the mass of sheeting, putting the magazine down to rest in his lap. The tumbled mass of thick brown hair shifted on the pillow, unfurling from the grips of sleep. Two green eyes blinked mistily at him, confusion keeping the clarity away.

"Tony?" The young agent asked quietly, leaning forward towards the bed.

"Mphfllf." Was the mumbled answer as the boy blinked incoherently. Roy smiled, gently.

"Feelin' any better there?"

The boy finally focused on the agent, eyes hazily scanning the amount of the room he could see.

"Whes Gifss?" Not exactly understandable, but the gist was there.

"Gibbs...isn't here right now, Tony." Roy replied awkwardly, one hand unconsciously fiddling with the edge of the magazine.

The curtain was pulled back, causing two pairs of opposite coloured eyes to flick towards the movement.

"Agent Cadman?" Roy stood as he was addressed, eyes levelling on the agent in the smart grey suit who was a good few inches shorter than himself.

"Agent Fornell?" He got a nod in return. Roy glanced over Fornell's shoulder at what seemed to be an ungainly gaggle of agents in their matching dark suits. He didn't look impressed.

"Jethro around?" Fornell glanced over at the wary little boy, still curled up on his side, his bandaged arm resting on the pillow beside his head.

"No."Roy replied with finality, and a hint of...something Fornell couldn't quite place.

"I think we can handle it from here, Agent. Tell Jethro to call me when you see him." Fornell stepped into the cubicle, immediately taking Roy's vacated chair. The young NCIS agent stood his ground as the FBI sidled in, arms either crossed or in the pockets of their suit pants.

"When I see him," Roy slipped out just as Tony succumbed to the haze of sleep.

The next time Tony woke there was a muffle of voices, none of which he recognised, even as his brain stopped feeling like a half baked omelette.

"Hear you and the wife are trying for a kid, Fraser." One male voice started

"I don't see how you put up with being controlled by your wife." Another interceded

"Well, for most of us, Pritchard, monogamy isn't just what they make expensive furniture out of." A third stated, laugher rolled across the cubicle before a gruffer, older voice stopped with a simple,

"Shut up."

"Sorry, boss."

* * *

The entire thing confused Tony far too much than he was willing to admit. Gibbs wasn't here. The _FBI _were here. They were taking him to a safe-house. Gibbs wasn't here. They wanted him to talk to them. About his father. Gibbs wasn't here. He just didn't understand.

The thick-set black SUV which had pulled up outside the hospital where the four FBI Agents had stood around like imposing guard dogs was now cruising calmly down the dual carriageway, two agents in one car, a second FBI SUV behind, keeping its distance. Tony rested his chin on the top of his bag which had somehow materialised beside his hospital bed, green eyes watching the cars flick past in front of the drab scenery.

"_Grant to Fraser."_ A radio crackled in the front seat, drawing the boy's attention.

"Fraser here, go ahead."

"_Black sedan, two cars back, been following us since we changed."_

"Yeah, we've seen it too, Fraser, keep an eye." The younger of the two agents in the car turned to the boss.

"Should we do anything different, Fornell?" The dark haired agent whose hair was slowly thinning on top glanced in the rear-view mirror, a smile curving on his lips.

"Take a look, Fraser, what kinda car is it?" The young dark haired agent named Fraser took a glance in the mirror whilst keeping a steady hand on the wheel.

"Uh...black...Dodge sedan?" He concluded, turning his eyes back to the road. "What of it?"

Fornell just rolled his eyes. "And the driver, Fraser?"

"I can't get a good look at him." Again with the eye roll, if he did it too much his eyes would get permanently stuck to the top of his head.

"It's the NCIS Agent from the hospital, you idiot." He clarified, leaning an elbow on the jam of the electric window.

"Fraser to Grant."

"_Grant here."_

"Stand down, it's an NCIS wannabe stalker."

"_Just can't let go of a case, can they?" _There was a stream of laughter before the radio disconnected and the car once more lapsed into an annoying silence.

The journey was quiet from then on, passing across intersection after intersection, through dark and stoned scenery that Tony didn't recognise. It seemed like an age before Fornell's phone rang shrilly from his jacket pocket.

"Fornell." He answered brusquely.

"_Agent Fornell, if you haven't noticed, you're being followed." _Roy's less than cheerful voice cut through the silence of the car's engine.

"Yeah, by you, Cadman."

"_No, I'm following the followers."_

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"_Just in front of me there's a green BMW with tinted windows, it pulled out in front of me at the hospital, at the first intersection it was joined by that black Mercedes one car back to your right and at the last intersection an identical Mercedes joined to your left. If I was making a point, it looks like you're being surrounded, Agent Fornell. Now, I know this is your operation, but anything happens to that kid and I will send Gibbs to kill you." _The line disconnected just as the Agency black Dodge jumped out into a different lane, smoothly overtaking the BMW and the Mercedes on the right to position itself in front of the FBI SUV.

Fornell craned his neck around, taking in the blacked out windows of the three European cars currently tailing their SUV and the one directly behind them.

"Fornell to Grant, we're being followed, sharp right, split up and meet at safe-house eight."

"_Safe-house eight? But, we're scheduled for safe-house three."_

"Exactly!"

"_Roger, sir."_

In the second SUV, Pritchard spun the wheel after the first SUV, peeling off to the left just as Fornell commanded, his car squealing slightly as the heavy car took the turn. Roy's Dodge lead Pritchard's SUV away from Fornell's, and unsurprisingly the BMW and a Mercedes skippered after them.

"I seriously hope you guys are half as good as you say you are." Roy muttered under his breath, taking a quick turn away from the SUV, the Dodge protesting on two wheels. But, he did earn himself a BMW on his tail. He'd always hated those cars, this should be fun.

Fornell glanced in the rear view mirror at the small boy clutching at his backpack with the wide eyed fear of a child. His bandaged arm was tucked tightly against the fabric of the bag with his whole frame shivering in a gruesome show of terror.

"I'd hold on, kid." Fraser growled from the driver's seat, wrenching the wheel to the side as he tried to take on the remaining Mercedes and break some law of physics at the same time.

* * *

The door was never locked, there didn't seem much point, it was a quiet neighbourhood. Or at least it had been until last week. The police tape flapped in a gentle summer breeze, the heavily tarpaulin covering the gap in the front wall. Wall was an overstatement. It was just a hole, the place had been destined unliveable-in. They were talking about demolition rather than restoration, but that wasn't going to happen, that was his house. A workman's radio was making ambient background sound.

Gibbs stood solemnly in his destroyed living room, the remnants of his windows strewn across the floor in a cascade of shining films of silver. Glass crunched under his sole, but he ignored it as he made his way up the stairs. Wreckage occasionally stopped his straight line, but a kick and a shove remove the obstacle from his way.

Dumbly he grabbed a few clean shirts, shoving them into a bag over one shoulder.

"Don't say anything." He muttered to the presence behind him.

"I have nothing to say to you." The culture English accent cut through the sound of flapping tarpaulin. Gibbs turned slowly, regarding the M.E. carefully.

"What're you doing here?" He asked, not exactly bluntly, but it wasn't a polite question.

"Sometimes a friend comes to the aid of another." Was the calm, quick reply.

"I don't need help."

"So you so often say. Sometimes you don't have to ask, Jethro, sometimes there's someone there to anticipate." With the final sentiment the pathologist slipped down the stairs and out the front...hole.

With a defiant moment, jaw clenched, Gibbs stared at the plain wallpaper in the bedroom. But, he followed his old friend down the scattered stairs, bag over one shoulder. As he passed out the door he didn't listen to the insistent newsreader on the workman's radio.

"_...car chase has started from an unknown origin across West Washington. Three apparently unrelated incidents of excessive speeding have lead to at least one casualty among the vehicles and undoubtedly more to come. A police spokesman has stated than uncountable damage is possible at this point..."_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: An Insulted View**

"Son of a bitch!" Roy, normally the calm and gentle driver, yelled uselessly to the BMW hot on his tails. "Learn to drive, moron!" He glanced in his rear view mirror again as the BMW took out a row of garbage bins lining a suburban street. Roy himself took the company car in a full 180 degree turn, the end fish-tailing wildly before he got the vehicle back under control, flooring the pedal in the opposite direction. The BMW took a wider turn accompanied by two angry car horns blaring as the screech of tires told Roy that the BMW had almost hit a pedestrian car.

He hated car chases, he hated driving in general and this was far from his comfort zone. He'd never been near the top of his class when it came to defensive driving and loosing this suspect was proving far harder than any exercise.

"Why won't you just bust a tire?" He muttered darkly as he took a left without looking, causing a pedestrian car to slam on the brakes with a second's notice. "Sorry." He muttered, though there was no way anyone could hear him. But the BMW just appeared again, dark and ominous, filling his rear view mirror.

_At least they haven't a clue which one to follow._ Roy's optimistic mind supplied as way of encouragement as he glanced mournfully at the red light flashing on his petrol tank bar. Great time to not stop for gas. Clenching his jaw Roy made possibly the only decision which flipped through his mind; he skidded into a story-ed carpark.

Of course, the BMW followed without so much as a second squeal.

"C'mon, c'mon." The young NCIS agent muttered to himself as the Dodge wound in a wide circle higher and higher through the levels of parking, the European made car tightly on his rear bumper. So tight that the ugly grill of the chasing vehicle smashed unceremoniously into his Dodge, causing a loud and obnoxious yell from the Dodge driver.

The dreary light of the cloud ridden day caught straight through Roy's wind screen as he emerged onto the roof of the parking garage, the white sky blaring at his retinas. Spinning the wheel enough to cause friction burns, Roy skidded the car around on the tarmac, the rear wheels perilously close to skippering off the roof's limits. The car stood clear, still as the BMW approached slowly, the blacked out front windows had to be beyond the legal limit of visibility.

Crouching behind the wheel for a moment, Roy slowly slid his Agency weapon from its holster in his jacket, ducking his head down as he slowly opened the Dodge's door, keeping below the window line as he crouched onto the tarmac, watching as the BMW mimicked his actions, yet, they had a passenger and a driver.

"We have no quarrel with you, just give us the child and we shall leave you alone." A thick accented voice called across the sparse space between them. Roy cocked an eyebrow. Do they think there's a kid in each car or something.

"Wouldn't be such a good idea," Roy called back with faked bravado. "Just got this new job, see, and I'm trying to make a good impression."

There was a pause. "Would you rather lose your job or your life?" A second voice, coming from the driver's side door, questioned, a deep New York accent, Brooklyn if Roy was any sort of investigator.

"Depends, might lose both if I give ya the kid and tell my boss." Roy cursed his tongue, fingers fidgeting on the grip of his weapons.

There was a flurry of activity until a unmistakable _thunk _broke through Roy's concentration, a second later the window above his head shattered as a second projectile whizzed over his skull. The wind screen received the tell tale holes of combat. Roy cursed, taking his chance and ducking out minutely to return fire on the BMW. He ducked behind his door just as he saw a bald head appear from behind the door, a unmistakable weapon in hand. A bullet tore through the door just to Roy's left, another piercing a hole straight through the driver's headrest, Roy covered his head with an arm as the entire wind screen crumpled down, splintering across the front seat just before –

"Hold fire, Oscar!" The rain of metal ceased.

"He ain't got the kid, C'mon!"

"Ace, how would you know?" The deep European accent asked, still covering with the flail of metal.

"We've been recalled. Come on! I don't want me ass on the line because of some kamikaze twat!"

The driver, who'd been giving the orders to the so called 'Oscar' clambered back into the driver's side just as 'Oscar' gave a hail of cover fire, hanging from the BMW's passenger door.

The European car spun with a protest of tires and began its retreat down the car park.

"Dammit!" Roy yelled to himself as he emptied his clip towards the fleeing car, only hearing a few successful hits. Looking back at the ruined Dodge, Roy gave the nearest wheel a serious kick out of pure anger, the empty gun held limply in one hand.

Scrambling over the seat, Roy managed to retrieve his phone amongst the crumbling glass shards.

"_Cadman! Now's not a great time!" _The voice, muffled with the screech of background noise greeted his phonecall.

"Fornell, just listen. The car following me just got called off. There's someone talkin' to him, they know which car the kid's in! I can't reach any of your lackies, get out of trouble."

"_Kinda what we're doing. I don't take orders from you, kid. Get back to your agency and thanks for the help!" _The line went dead.

"Dammit!" The second time in five minutes the call echoed across the empty parking roof, that was until the door to the stairs burst open with the shout of "Police! Freeze and put your hands in the air."

"_Ah, shit." _Roy muttered under his breath, dropping his gun onto the concrete.

* * *

"Gun it round the corner, Fraser." Fornell commanded, one hand hanging grimly onto the handle above the door. Fraser did as he was told, the heavy SUV teetering for a moment.

Tony yelped involuntarily, gripping his bag tighter, green eyes huge and round.

"It's okay, kid, we're almost there." Fornell attempted to sooth, forcing what was supposed to be a comforting smile but looked more like a grimace of agony. Tony averted his eyes quickly.

"Jesus, Fraser!" Fornell's warning came far too late as the SUV span dangerously around a new corner in the usual quiet suburban district, the Mercedes only metres behind. "Mind that-..."

The SUV ploughed straight into the stiff white fence of a nearby house as Agent Fraser attempted to pull out the way of a young family crossing the road. The nose of the SUV came to a skipping stop against the porch of the house, the wood splintering around the edges. Fraser immediately tried to gun the engine, only to have mud splattered across the windows as the wheels span against the deep skid holes made seconds earlier.

Fornell swore loudly. "Fraser, get the kid, get Pritch and Grant online and get a location."

The Mercedes had already stopped just behind the stranded SUV. A spluttering man stood in the doorway of the house, staring stunned at his once immaculate lawn.

"Pritch! Pritchard, come in. Come _in_!" Fraser yelled into his receiver, dragging the boy unceremoniously out of the car's back, shielding him automatically as he backed away from the growling Mercedes.

"Bring us the child and we'll leave, we don't want bloodshed."

_Well that's new. _Fornell thought to himself as he took cover behind the SUV. "Fraser, through the house out the back."

"I'm not leaving you alone, sir!" Came the indignant reply.

"I'm not giving you a choice, Fraser. Go...Now Alex, go." Alex Fraser cast a single glance back before grabbing Tony firmly, and hurrying the harried man back into his house just as the shots started.

The Mercedes driver caught the movement behind the SUV.

"Damien, they're heading around the back, call Ace and tell him to meet you there." The passenger nodded mutely, his tattooed head bobbing out of sight, ducking away from Fornell's furious firing.

Alex Fraser dragged Tony through the house, ignoring the fact he'd left the boy's bag behind. "I'm sorry, sir. Please get yourself and your family upstairs until Agent Fornell gives the all clear. Understand?" Fraser ducked into the kitchen, just as the man nodded hesitantly, shepherding his wife and teenage daughter up the stairs.

The backdoor was set just inside the larder of the kitchen, leading out onto the small backyard surrounded by a wooden fence.

"Get in the shed and close the door." Fraser's voice was harsh and calculating as he pushed Tony towards the rickety shed, shutting the door firmly behind him.

In the darkness, Tony huddled down behind a hand-pushed lawnmower and a rusting spade, arms wrapping around his legs, eyes fixed on the small stream of light between the door and the wall. His small hand closed around an object lying on the floor.

Shouts of words Tony didn't understand filtered through the wooden boards. Occasional shadows blocked out the light. Gunshots. Each one sent a jolt through his young body. He held his injured arm close to his chest, un-noticed going through the tremors which shook his shoulders. Gibbs needed to be here. Gibbs would solve this, not some _FBI _agent. Gibbs!

The door was wrenched open, tearing a cry from the terrified child.

"I found him!" The New York accent called behind him. Making the one mistake bad guys should never make. Never turn your back on a terrified kid in a shed full of tools. The garden fork smacked into the New Yorker's legs with a resounding _thwunk _and a punctuated cry that should never be repeated in civilised company. Scrambling away, the boy sprinted. His green eyes roamed, two men, strangers, guns. Alex Fraser bleeding heavily on the manicured lawn.

A henchman raised his gun, only to be stopped by the newly arrived Ace.

"We need him _unharmed._" He spoke whilst breaking into a run after the boy. Tony risked a glance over his shoulder. No, Gibbs should be here! That what the bad guys needed, in films and stuff the good guys showed up and...and...he usually fell asleep by this point in films, or they got taken away from him. But, the good guys always appeared!

Scrambling through the gap in the fence, Tony took his risking tactics through the next garden, and the next, hearing the swears, curses and footsteps behind him.

"Shit, this kid is fast! Damien, get round the side, Oscar...Oscar, get it, it was only a frickin' fork! Block off his exit, NOW!"

Running was all that he could think about right now. Just keeping going. He didn't know the time, didn't really know the date, didn't know where he was...Wait a minute. What was that sign post. For the first time in...however long the boy had been fleeing he skidded to a halt, breath coming in short pants, legs finally taking on the texture of jelly donuts. It was the donuts which made sure he didn't collapse into a jelly heap against the road sign.

He'd seen that sign before. Yes, he had.

* * *

"Arrested? For what?" A harsh voice cut through the usual quiet of the Mallard home. The Pathologist appeared in a doorway, eyes carefully watching the back – slightly hunched shoulders, tense arms – of the man on the phone.

"And did you get his side of the story, why he was speeding? I'll be there in twenty minutes." He shut the phone with a growl.

"Do I care to ask?" The M.E. ventured quietly.

"Cadman's been arrested, apparently for excessive speed and discharging his weapon in a public area." The pathologist frowned deeply. "I'm gunna go pick him up. See what he has to say for himself." The lead agent took a sign, grabbing he keys from his pocket and storming out the door as like a rhino on the rampage. The car bleeping expectantly as it await the entrance of it's driver, not knowing the brutality that short ride to the precinct would be.

"Boss!" Roy greeted, standing up as the superior agent appeared in front of him.

"Story, speak."

"I was just keepin' an eye on the FBI, keeping an eye on Tony. There were these three cars following them and they hadn't noticed, when I called it in the cars just jumped us, I drew one off, but it was three to three."

"And the fire fight?"

"On the top of Garrison Parking Garage. They would've crippled me but they had some tip off that Tony wasn't in my car. Someone on the inside had to be doin' it, no other way someone could've known."

Gibbs stood quietly for a few moments before jerking his head. Roy caught onto his heels, sliding into the passenger side of the car without a moment's thought, or a word.

"Call Fornell." Gibbs tossed the phone across to his new agent, eyes stuck to the road.

"_Gibbs." _Came the soft answer over the connecting mobile devices.

"Fornell, where's Tony?" Gibbs, speaking over the speakerphone asked directly. There was a long, drawn out pause.

"Tobias." The voice was cold, chilling the car. Roy stole a glance at his boss. "Where is Tony?"

"_I don't know." _

In the driver's seat, Gibbs' foot tapped on the gas, jerking the car forward dangerously in the slow traffic.

"You...don't know."

"_I'm sorry, Gibbs. In the fight I lost a man, lost another in a car crash. The kid must've run, we can't locate him anywhere."_

Roy regretted slightly getting into the car as the icy stare seemed to burn through the wind shield of the car onto the road in front. This was downright scary to say the least. The lead agent had his knuckles white against the steering wheel, fingers clenching down, arms tensed up. There was another long pause, not even the car dared to move. Finally with surprisingly gentle fingers, Gibbs reached across and ended the call, his eyes never leaving the road.

The car turned off onto a side street.

"Sir?" Roy asked after the car had come to park a few yards into the alley.

"Cadman, get a cab, get Ducky and get back to the Navy Yard, put out a BOLO on Tony." The agent's voice was calm and soft, astonishingly so under the circumstances, but Roy could see the burn in the usually icy blue eyes.

"Yes, boss." The young agent slipped quickly out of the car, closing the door with a click. He was just hailing a cab when the black car he'd formally been inside screeched away with a blare of indignant horns. Roy gave a nod in its general direction as he cab door closed behind him.

Lost in a city as big as Washington. Where would he go? One thought came to mind, but how would he get there? What good would it do him if he did manage to get there? There was no one home. At least, at the moment there was no-one home. How had he let this happen? Under his watch, it might not seem like that, but he should never have given him away. He should never have given up on him. No, not his boy. Not now.

The light was slowly fading, just glancing lights over the horizon and soaking the streets in a dull glow. He hadn't turned his headlights on, hadn't thought about it yet. Streetlights were just flickering on as he stepped out of the car. Tarpaulin flapped in the breeze. It was eerily quiet, just the soft flip flop of the plastic coverings which now served as his outer wall. The cold struck through the darkening day, the night quickly swallowing up whatever was left of the pitiful day.

Gibbs stepped forward, eyes flicking through the translucent tarpaulin into the remains of his living room, dust and debris still strewn haphazardly across the carpet. Pulling back the tarpaulin slowly, Gibbs ducked his head inside.

Something smacked into his waist, arms winding around his back as quick as a flash.

"Gibbs!" A small voice, muffled by the fabric of Gibbs shirt was alive with relief.

Lowering himself into a kneeling position, Gibbs wrapped his own arms around the trembling child, holding the boy safely amidst the floating plastic, catching the last rays of a dying sun before they skittered back, captured by the night.

* * *

"I beg your pardon." The words were spoken so slowly, so politely. The menace was obvious.

"I'm sorry, sir. I really am...It's just...I didn't expect it, they were outnumbered and...and he ran! He wasn't supposed to run, he was outnumbered and he just ran!"

"He ran. Did he indeed? Like a coward, running away from the fight, fleeing from the excitement." A soft chuckle, there was no humour. "It appears, Mr. Pritchard, that you have your work cut out for you." Ever sound was punctuated with a clear cut upper class accent. "I am not a man accustomed to failure, Mr. Pritchard, nor am I a man who will tolerate it. I have played nice for the past day, I gave you a chance to merely bring him back to me. Yet, reports of failure is all I appear to have, failure and a medical report from one of my own men. This is a rare second chance, Mr. Pritchard. I advise caution, speed and care in your work. For now, I no longer demand 'undamaged' as a request. I may prefer it so, but it is not a necessity. A speedy return. Good night, Mr. Pritchard, be so kind as to close the door on your way out."

**Apologise for the delay, real life has me clamped by the ankles. Mayday's up next for an update, shouldn't be too long I imagine! Thanks for the reviews, that brighten up my day.**

**Soul Music.**


End file.
